


Aetos Dios

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon AU after 8x06.  Sam and Dean still weren’t speaking when they moved on to their next case.  Sam felt like someone was watching him and he kept seeing this strange eagle everywhere he went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aetos Dios

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_reversebang 2013. Beta'd by deceptivemirror. Art by amber1960

 

 

PART ONE:

 

Sam was used to hallucinating.  It seemed to him that he’d been seeing things his whole life.  After her death, he saw Jessica on every street corner and saw her face on every billboard.  The year after his father died, he felt a constant tingling in his spine, like if he turned around, John would be right there, watching.  When Dean was in Hell…

 

Well, he didn’t like to think about that.

 

Still, he’d been seeing things for a long time before his wall broke and Lucifer began haunting his footsteps.  Lucifer was different, though; he was pervasive and inescapable.  Even when Sam slept, he couldn’t shove his memories of Hell away.  It broke him, eventually, and he probably would have died and gone to Hell all over again if it hadn’t been for Castiel’s penance.

 

Lucifer was different.  _This_ felt different too.

 

He hadn’t noticed it the first day.  They’d arrived in Plymous, Georgia just as a storm was rolling in.  They’d gotten a motel and eaten at the local diner in silence.  He and Dean did most everything in silence nowadays.

 

Something had begun to tickle the back of his mind by the time they went to bed—in separate queen beds, because Dean was still so, so mad.  It didn’t matter that Sam had said he was done taking Dean’s crap; Dean wasn’t done giving it.  Sam had stared at his brother’s back and tried to sleep.

 

He’d dreamt of falling golden feathers and when he woke up, the feeling was back with a vengeance.

 

He was jumpy and anxious as they set out to get to work on the case the second day.  The case itself wasn’t anything big, just a couple of small, strange coincidences.  The town had an oddly high rate of teenage pregnancies, combined with a high rate of death among people under thirty.  It had caught Sam’s eye and he was the one that had suggested checking it out.

 

Dean had sneered, of course.  “Dude, it’s probably nothing,” he’d said dismissively, not even bothering to look at what was on the screen of Sam’s computer.  “Stuff like that happens sometimes.”  

 

Sam had heard what Dean wasn’t saying: _you’ve been out of the game; you don’t know what you’re doing anymore._   He’d squared his shoulders and insisted they go.  It wasn’t like they’d had anything else to do.

 

He was beginning to regret insisting so hard.  In the library, he couldn’t focus, the research and patterns not coming together like they usually did.  Dean spent one hour with him, flipping through obituaries and snorting, before he decided to go talk to the principal of the high school.  “Might know something about the pregnancies,” he muttered, before leaving Sam on his own.

 

After several more hours in the library, Sam admitted to himself that the hunt was probably a bust.  He closed the old books with a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.  He would be glad to have the chance to get out Plymous.  It gave him all kinds of bad feelings.

 

When he walked into their motel room, Dean was already there.  Sam sighed as he shut the door behind him.  “You were right,” he admitted, not even ashamed to say so like usual.  A blow to his pride was better than sticking around while he had this _feeling_ in the back of his mind.  “It’s a bust.  Just a weird town, I guess.”

 

Slowly, Dean’s eyebrows rose.  “It’s not a bust,” he said firmly, with an air of superiority that made Sam want to punch him.  “I don’t know what _you_ were looking at, but I noticed a very interesting pattern.”  He nodded towards a handful of papers spread out over the desk.  “Sixteen teenage pregnancies within the last year.  Of those sixteen, seven of the girls are dead.”

 

Frowning, Sam leaned down to look at the papers.  Dean was right—here were the obituaries and the evidence.  Wincing, Sam remembered looking at several of the same documents and dismissing them.  “Anything interesting about their deaths?”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed and Sam felt slightly better knowing Dean hadn’t figured _everything_ out.  “They were all accidents.  Nothing to do with childbirth, which is what I originally thought.  But I’m sure there’s something more connecting them.  I just can’t figure it out.”

 

Grabbing one of the chairs from beside the table, Sam sat down and peered over the documents.  He bit at his lower lip and tried to focus.  The itch at the base of his skull was no excuse for not seeing this the first time, especially when Dean was already disappointed in him.

 

“I think you’re right,” Sam murmured.  “There’s a definite connection here.”

 

Dean snorted, and Sam imagined that if he looked up, he’d see his brother  rolling his eyes.  “No shit I’m right.  Pretty damn obvious if you ask me.”

 

Tamping down on his own anger, Sam ignored his brother’s jibe.  “The question is how these girls’ deaths relate to the other ones.”  He wished he had made copies of the other obituaries while at the library.  Still, he could recall a few.  He pulled out his laptop and fired it up.  “All those other deaths.  They have to be linked to the girls and the pregnancies.”

 

Papers slammed down next to Sam’s hand on the table.  When he looked up, Dean was smirking over him.  “I think I’ve already got that part.” He collapsed into the other chair, sprawling back in it.  “None of the girls ever gave up the name of the guy that knocked them up.  So I figure, maybe the girls are going and killing off their baby-daddies.”

 

Sam looked at the articles skeptically, flipping through them.  One death was the former captain of the football team; the other, a nerdy artist.  “The deaths were all ruled accidents.”

 

Shrugging, Dean looked totally unconcerned with the flaws in his theory.  “So, maybe the girls are witches.  Or some Amazon off-shoot.  I don’t know.”

 

Letting out a huff of air, Sam shook his head.  “The Amazons we ran into were nothing like this, Dean.  As for witches…  what’s the sense behind it?  The motivation?”

 

“Fucked if I know.”  Dean’s feet hit the floor harshly as he heaved himself back up.  He snagged his jacket off of his bed, lips pressed tightly together.  “Instead of poking holes in the theories I managed to come up with, why don’t you find something for yourself?  I’m going out for a drink.”

 

The door slammed shut behind him.

 

The sting of Dean’s words finally distracted Sam from the weird _thing_ he kept feeling.  He pressed his fingers into the palm of his right hand harshly, before grabbing a handful of papers and pulling them closer.  There was always a connection, a pattern.  If he could put this together fast enough, they’d be able to blow town quickly and Dean might actually be happy with him for the first time since he’d gotten back.

 

He breathed in deeply, trying to figure it out.  He listed the facts in his mind: twenty-five teen pregnancies within the last year, seven of those teens dead, plus eight men under thirty also dead.  All the deaths were accidents.  All the pregnancies were accidents as well; at least, none of the girls had admitted to a pregnancy pact.  All of it added up to just plain old weird.

 

The accidental deaths weren’t all that shocking.  One girl had had an allergic reaction to something in her wedding cake.  Another had accidentally dropped her blowdryer in her bath the evening after her wedding.  Sam paused on that, flipping through the pages to the next girl, Shelley Danson.  She’d died after tripping down a flight of stairs and hitting her head… during her wedding rehearsal.

 

Energy surging through him, Sam checked the other four girls.  All seven girls had died within a few days of their wedding.  Interestingly, he noted, none of the girls had been pregnant at the time; they’d already delivered their children.  Comparing their records to the girls who were still alive, he noticed that only one other girl had gotten married—and she had been pregnant at the time of her marriage.

 

Sitting back in his chair, Sam ran a hand through his hair.  Pregnancies, weddings, and death.  It sounded like a soap opera.  Obviously, whatever was killing the girls had some sort of conscience, as well as a hatred of weddings.  Two unmarried girls had already delivered their children, and both were fine.  It didn’t make sense, but Sam was confident it would all come together in the end.  It always did.

 

Pulling the information about the boys forward, he began leafing through it.  If he could just connect their deaths to the girls’, he was sure he would have his answer.  Dean wouldn’t be able to sneer at him then.  Dean would—

 

There was a rattling outside.  Absentmindedly, Sam looked up through the window.

 

Perched on the branch of a tree right across the street from the motel, a brown eagle with gold-flecked feathers stared at him.  Sam held its gaze for a moment before shuddering and pulling the curtains shut.

 

The itch was back.

 

 

*

 

 

Sam tossed and turned in bed that night, trying to figure it out.  The boys’ deaths didn’t fits in with the girls’ _(Dean hadn’t come back from the bar)._ The combination of pregnancy and wedding deaths did bring to mind any monsters Sam had ever heard of _(maybe he was sleeping with someone)_.  Not to mention, the lack of abortions was strange, even for a small town in Georgia _(maybe it was someone he actually liked)_.  Amazons didn’t make sense and witches didn’t either _(maybe he would like her so much he wouldn’t come back)_.

 

Trying to block out his thoughts, Sam snapped his eyes closed, fingers squeezing his pillow.  Pregnancy.  _(Purgatory)._ Weddings.  _(Gold)._ Death.  _(Benny)._   Eagles eagles eagles eagles _eagles eagles—_

 

Sam’s eyes snapped open and he flung himself back against the headboard, grabbing for the knife under his pillow.  There was an eagle— _the_ eagle, the same one from earlier that day.  It was massive, wings brushing against the motel walls, and it was was there, right in front of his bed, just _staring_.  With shaking fingers, Sam drew the knife out, unsheathed and ready to throw—

 

“Sam?”  Sam’s head jerked to the side.  There was Dean, right next to him in bed.  The covers were puddled around his hips.  He was naked, that much Sam could see, and he was rubbing his eyes sleepily.  “Sam, what’re you doing?”

 

“The…”  Sam glanced back and the eagle was still there, still staring.  “The eagle, Dean.  I’ve got to kill the eagle.”

 

Dean blinked at him a few times, still dazed with sleep.  “What eagle, Sam?  There’s no eagle.”  Dean was wearing a small smile as he reached forward to rest his hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “No eagle.  Just you… and me… and this bed.”  His voice was getting breathy, like it used to when they used to do this all the time.  Sam leaned into him, entranced.

 

Dean’s voice was like honey as he said, “wanna put this bed to better use?”

 

Sam let himself fall down on top of his brother, bringing their lips together.  He would suck the taste of alcohol out of Dean; erase all their miseries.  He would—he drew back with a frown.  “You don’t taste like beer.  You didn’t drink at the bar?”

 

Dean’s head tilted to the side as he smiled bemusedly.  “What are you talking about, Sam?  I’ve been here with you all night.”

 

Sam pulled back, body stiffening.  “No, you went to a bar.  You said you were going to a bar.  I remember—”  Dean hadn’t slept with him since he’d gotten back from Purgatory.  Dean didn’t want to touch him.  “You’re not my brother,” Sam said, shaking his head, slightly hysterically.  “You’re _not_ my brother.”

 

“Sam,” the Dean-thing cooed, and Sam felt something scrape his back.

 

He flung himself around, and his knife hit flesh.  The eagle screamed out from where it had been hovering over him, about to grab him.  There was a thin line of red across its breast from where Sam had hit it.  Sam lunged forward, ready to strike the fatal blow— 

 

He woke up, surging forward in bed, cold sweat over his brow.

 

Sucking in a couple of deep breaths, Sam fisted his hands in the motel bedding.  He looked over at the other bed.  He could make out Dean’s back easily; he wasn’t asleep.  His back was too tense for him to be asleep.  Dean was awake, but he showed no reaction to Sam’s violent waking.  

 

Once upon a time, waking up from a nightmare meant a concerned Dean and arms around Sam when he went back to sleep.  That was obviously no longer true.  A lot of things weren’t true anymore.

 

“Dean,” he whispered, hoping…

 

There was no answer.

 

Sam swallowed a couple of times, pushing down his disappointment.  Quietly, he slid out of bed and powered up his laptop.  The white glow of the screen was strangely comforting in the dark.  Logging on, he went directly to Google and typed in ‘ _eagles as a symbol_ ’.

 

 _The eagle with its keen eyes symbolized perspicacity, courage, strength and immortality, but is also considered "king of the skies" and messenger of the highest Gods. With these attributed qualities the eagle became a symbol of power and strength in Ancient Rome. Mythologically, it has been connected by the Greeks with the God Zeus, by the Romans with Jupiter, by the Germanic tribes with Odin, by the Judeo-Christian scriptures with those who hope in God (Isa 40:31), and in Christian art with Saint John -_ [ [x](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eagle_\(heraldry\)) ]

 

“God,” Sam whispered to himself.  Somehow he doubted that God was sending him any messages.  God might exist but, as Castiel and all the other angels had shown them, He wasn’t paying attention.

 

Greece, Rome, Nordic myths…  the falcon was the symbol of Horus.  The eagle was on an ancient Persian standard.  Charlemagne’s coat of arms had half of an eagle on it.  Sam rubbed at his eyes.  Wikipedia was a good starting point, but it was all too much.  With shaking fingers, he typed in ‘ _eagle mythology_ ’ and hit enter.

 

Clicking on the first link, Sam watched as a picture of a huge golden eagle came up, a human clutched in its talons.  Stiffening, Sam read the blurb the site provided.

 

 _THE AETOS DIOS was a giant, golden eagle which served as Zeus' personal messenger and animal companion. According to some, the eagle was once a mortal king named Periphas, whose virtuous rule was so celebrated that he was came to be honoured like a god. Zeus, in anger, would have smote him with a thunderbolt, but Apollon intervened and, transforming the king into an eagle, set him beside the throne of Zeus. In other accounts, Zeus adopted the eagle as his bird when it first appeared to him before the Titan War as a sign of good omen. The eagle was later sent by Zeus to carry the handsome youth Ganymede up to heaven to become the cupbearer of the gods. -_ [ [x](http://www.theoi.com/Ther/AetosDios.html) ]

 

“Ganymede,” Sam murmured.  It flashed through his mind for a moment; the eagle reaching for him, those talons scraping across his back…

 

Sam slammed his laptop closed and shook his head.  He was being an idiot.  A weird dream about a bird he’d seen didn’t mean anything.  It was just his fucked-up head doing fucked-up things.  None of this was at all relevant to the case; no one in town had been snatched up by a giant eagle.  He was letting his own paranoia get the better of him.

 

He would go back to sleep, he told himself.  Sleep, and in the morning, he wouldn’t feel that inch at the back of his skull.  He would be able to figure the case out then and make Dean happy.  All this eagle nonsense would be forgotten.

 

He climbed back into bed.  For a second, he thought he saw movement from the other bed, like Dean had been watching him and had just turned his back again.  Sam curled up around his pillow and counted it as wishful thinking.

 

 

*

 

 

It didn’t go away.  It just got worse.

 

Sam woke up jittery and high-strung.  He and Dean ignored the dark circles under each others’ eyes.  Dean snapped at him once during breakfast over something stupid, like not passing the salt or something.  Sam had been distracted by the golden eagle perched on top of the Impala.

 

Instead of holding in his anger, Sam snapped something right back at him before storming out of the diner.  He stomped straight towards the Impala, reaching for the knife in his pocket.  He was going to kill the fucking bird, twist its neck and break it.

 

“Sam!”  Dean called after him.  “Sam, what the hell?”

 

Sam ignored him.  He was only a few yards away and the bird was still unmoving.  It stared at him, its eyes seeming to tilt upwards in amusement.  It was only when he was within arm’s length that it took off, the tips of its wings brushing his face.  It let out a loud cry as it swept through the air to land in a tree across the street.

 

“Get the fuck back here!”  Sam yelled, his knife flashing through the air as he gestured.  There were some loud gasping noises, presumably from people on the sidewalk walking past him.  Sam didn’t pay attention to them.  He kept his eyes on the eagle, baring his teeth so it could see.    “Get the fuck back here and I’ll wring your neck—”

 

Dean’s hand clapped over his mouth, effectively silencing him.  His brother shoved Sam sideways towards the car.  “Sorry,” Dean said loudly to a scandalized woman, pasting on an obviously fake smile.  “He went off his meds today.”  It was only when Sam was buckled into the passenger’s seat and Dean had shut the door on the driver’s side that Dean turned to him, his eyes dead serious.  “What the fuck was that?”

 

“Fucking eagle,” Sam muttered.  The bird was still there, watching.  “It’s been following us.  I dreamed about it last night.  I swear, Dean, there’s something freaky about that bird.”

 

Dean looked at him for a moment, like he was studying him.  Finally, he nodded slowly.  “Okay.  Sam,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a mental patient.  “Look, I get it’s been stressful and all, getting back on the road again.  But there hasn’t been a mention of a bird in anything else we’ve seen here.  Birds don’t have anything to do with all that stuff you figured out about marriages and babies and stuff.  So you just need to calm down—”

 

“The _stress_ isn’t getting to me,” Sam gritted out, turning his gaze to glare at his brother.  “I’m not crazy or whatever you’re thinking.  I’ve had a feeling ever since we got to this town and that eagle is part of it!”  He stared stubbornly at Dean, sticking his chin out.  “I’m not fucking around here, Dean.”

 

Sam could almost see the gears in Dean’s brain turning.  The clench of his jaw, the flick of his tongue over his lips, the way his hands were clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel; all classic signs of Dean-indecision.  He was pretty obviously torn between trusting Sam’s instincts and dismissing them like he wanted to.

 

When Dean didn’t reply after a long minute, Sam let out an angry huff and turned back to stare at the bird.  “It’s gone,” he muttered in surprise, clenching his hands.  

 

Dean didn’t say a thing, but Sam knew any chance he had of Dean taking him seriously was gone.  He sighed, slouching down in his seat.  “Just take us back to the motel,” he said wearily.  “I’ll keep going through research while you interview the boys’ parents.”

 

Dean didn’t have any objection to _that._   Ten minutes later, Sam was back inside the dingy motel and Dean was gone with a roar of the Impala’s engine.  Sam ran a hand over his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the dim light. 

 

When he opened them, the eagle was perched on his bed.

 

“ _You_ ,” he hissed, and his hand went for the gun in the back of his jeans.  Just as he pulled it out, the eagle’s wings began to flap.

 

He got in two shots.  Both hit, but the eagle seemed undeterred.  As it came closer to him, it seemed to grow, becoming larger and larger until Sam wasn’t sure how it fit in the motel.  

 

Desperate, Sam fired one last shot directly into the creature’s breast.  It let out a loud caw and then something hit Sam over the head.  He fell forward.  The last thing he felt was the eagle’s talons wrapping around him.

 

 

*

 

 

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

 

A finger trailed over Sam’s cheek.  He stirred at the slight tickling sensation, turning into it.  “Dean,” he slurred.

 

Someone chuckled and it certainly wasn’t Sam’s brother.  His eyes flew open in alarm and he found himself looking up at a strange man.

 

The man was smiling and he was golden all over.  Golden hair, golden eyes, golden skin; he glowed, sunlight streaming over him.  Sam blinked up at him, completely baffled, but the man didn’t seem to mind Sam’s confusion.  Instead, he continued stroking his cheek.  “Not your brother, as you can see,” the man said jovially.  “But hopefully I’m not a completely awful sight.”

 

Normally, Sam would be up and off the bed in seconds.  He remembered everything that had happened, including the eagle snatching him from his motel room.  He didn’t know where he was.  Still, something kept him in the bed, curled up next to the golden man.

 

“Who are you?” Sam rasped out, letting out a soft gasp as the man’s hand fell to trail across his abs.

 

“Come now, Sam,” the man chided indulgently.  “You already know the answer to that question.”

 

He did.  “Zeus,” he whispered.  The father of gods and men grinned down at him, and everything in the room seemed brighter.  Sam shuddered.  “Where am I?” he asked.  “Where’s Dean?”

 

“Your brother’s fine,” Zeus said dismissively, rubbing his thumb over the skin of Sam’s side.  He wasn’t even looking at Sam’s eyes anymore; instead, he was staring down at Sam’s exposed skin.  Apparently someone had taken Sam’s shirt and jeans, leaving him in nothing but his underwear.  There was a niggling idea forming in the back of Sam’s head, one he didn’t like at all.

 

It was minutes later that Sam got up the courage to speak again.  “You didn’t answer my second question,” he said, just as Zeus’s hand shifted onto his hip.

 

“Mmm,” the god hummed, hand creeping further down to settle on the edge of Sam’s boxers.  His fingertips toyed with the cotton.  “Didn’t I?  My apologies.”  He looked back up at Sam’s face, eyes amused beneath long eyelashes.  “We’re in Olympus, Sam Winchester.  More specifically, we’re in my bedroom in my bed in Olympus.  I know how much you love specifics.”

 

Zeus’s fingers dipped beneath the cotton of Sam’s boxer-briefs.  “Don’t,” Sam hissed, able to shift away for the first time.

 

Zeus pulled his hand away, expression contrite.  “I’m sorry.  I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

 

“Then take me back to Dean,” Sam said, but Zeus cheerfully ignored him.  Instead, he cradled Sam’s face in one hand and leaned in to kiss him.

 

The God of Sky and Thunder kissed like a storm, demolishing any inch of resistance.  Sam’s lips fell open under his assault.  As they kissed, Sam tasted lightning.

 

When Zeus finally pulled away, Sam was dazed and panting.  Zeus gave him a sunny smile as he caressed his cheek.  “Why?” Sam gasped out, unable to do anything else.  He couldn’t move away;  Zeus wouldn’t let him.  “Why me?”

 

A fondness entered Zeus’s expression.  He looked almost tender as he leaned in to kiss Sam once more.  This time it was was light as the touch of a cloud.  “Oh, Sam,” Zeus murmured against his lips.  “Oh my little Ganymede reborn.  I have waited centuries for you.”

 

Sam felt nausea rise in his stomach as Zeus pulled him in for another kiss.

 

 

 

PART TWO:

 

 

When Dean got back to the motel, Sam was gone.  

 

He didn’t think much of it. 

 

Okay, he did, but he tried to ignore that.  His senses had been on hyper-alert ever since Purgatory.  Logically, he knew that Sam had probably just gone out for some food or to the library or something, but his instincts kept trying to tell him otherwise.

 

Yeah, well, his instincts were normally wrong when it came to Sam.  They’d always told him to trust his little brother and look where _that_ had gotten him.  Half-crazy from Purgatory, that’s where.

 

He shook his head and tried to relax, to think about the case.  The only thing the various boys had had in common was talent.  One had received a full-ride athletic scholarship to Yale; another was some kind of math genius.  Trophies had lined the shelves of every boy’s bedroom.

 

Still, he wasn’t sure how talented boys lined up with pregnant girls.  His first theory about an Amazon tribe would have made sense only if the babies had been born quickly and then grew up in days to murder the boys.  Contrary to that, each of the babies that had been born were still in baby stage.  Besides that, there was no connection that guaranteed the boys were the girls’ sperm-donors.

 

Dean puzzled over the issue for a few minutes before giving up for the night and turning on the TV.  He grinned when he saw all the free porn channels.  He could’ve sworn that the motel hadn’t had porn the night before, but he hadn’t exactly been looking for it, not with Sam in the room.

 

Shifting uncomfortably at the thought of his little brother, Dean glanced towards the window.  It was getting dark out and Sam wasn’t back yet.  Dean’s stomach was grumbling, but normally they ordered dinner together.  Even with all the tension between them, he wasn’t sure he felt okay with going against that fundamental rule.

 

Instead, he settled down to watch porn.  Sam wasn’t there, so Dean indulged.  He flipped through the channels— _there were over ninety, shit, this motel was good_ —and finally settled on what he wanted.  Unzipping his jeans, he reached inside his boxers to palm his cock as he watched a tall brunet twink writhe on a bed as some guy fucked him.  

 

He couldn’t see the kid’s face, which made it that much better; without the face visual, he could pretend those long limbs were just a bit longer and bulkier, the hair silkier, the skin slightly tanner and glossier.  The sounds ruined it, so he muted the TV and stroked himself in time with every thrust of the top’s hips.  When he came, he bit his lip so he couldn’t say anything.

 

By the time he’d turned the TV off and cleaned up, it was dark and Sam still wasn’t back.  Getting worried, Dean dialed his brother’s number, only to get voicemail.  “What the fuck, Sam,” Dean muttered.  “Fucking leave a note when you’re gonna be gone this long.  Call me back and tell me where the fuck you are.”

 

After another hour, he was worried enough to go out looking.

 

He drove the Impala around town, stopping at every diner and grocery store.  He stopped at the library too, but it had closed at nine.  Finally, Dean was reduced to driving up and down the streets, peering out the window in search of a tall, floppy-haired figure.

 

“Fucking Sam,” he hissed to himself.  He was exhausted, but adrenaline was running through his system.  He wouldn’t be able to go to sleep until he found his brother. 

 

At one in the morning, he stopped back at the motel, fully expecting to find Sam sacked out on his bed.  No one was there.  Instead, there was a package on Sam’s bed, nicely wrapped up in gold wrapping paper.  Warily, Dean walked towards it.  There was a card on top of the gift.  Snatching it up, Dean flipped the white cardstock open and read:

 

_Consider this a thank you for the company of my Ganymede.  I hope it satisfies you.  - Z_

 

The signature was big and elaborate, taking up half the page even though it was only a single letter.  “Ganymede,” Dean read to himself, and something about the name echoed in his psyche.  Placing the card to the side, Dean unwrapped the box.

 

Inside was bundles upon bundles of cash.

 

Dean stared at it for a moment.  He looked at the cash, then at Sam’s bags, still unpacked.  His brother’s jacket was even draped over one of the chairs.  Now that he was looking, Dean could see the bulge of a wallet in the jacket pocket.  

 

Sam wouldn’t leave without that.

 

Grabbing Sam’s laptop from where it was sitting on the table, Dean brought up Google and typed in ‘ _Ganymede’_.  A whole bunch of shit about planets came up.  Letting out an irritated sound, Dean scrolled down the page to ‘related searches’ and saw ‘ _ganymede greek mythology_ ’.

 

He clicked on it.  He read:

 

_Ganymede is the young, beautiful boy that became one of Zeus' lovers. One source of the myth says that Zeus fell in love with Ganymede when he spotted him herding his flock on Mount Ida. Zeus then came down in the form of an eagle or sent an eagle to carry Ganymede to Mount Olympus where Ganymede became cupbearer to the gods._

 

_When Ganymede's father, King Tros of Troy or Laomedon, found out about Ganymede's disappearance, he grieved so hard that Zeus sent Hermes on his behalf to give Tros or Laomedon two storm footed horses. In other accounts, Zeus gave Tros a golden vine and two swift horses that could run over water. Hermes was also ordered to assure the bereaved father that Ganymede was and would be immortal. Later, Heracles asked for the two beautiful horses in exchange for destroying the sea monster sent by Poseidon to besiege the city of Troy. Tros agreed and Heracles became the owner of the bribe sent by Zeus to Tros._

 

 _Upon hearing that Ganymede was to be cup bearer as well as Zeus' lover, the infinitely jealous Hera was outraged. Therefor Zeus set Ganymede's image among the stars as the constellation Aquarius, the water carrier. -_ [[x](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/g/ganymede.html)]

 

What the _fuck_.

 

With trembling fingers, Dean checked the search history and saw someone had looked up ‘ _eagle symbolism_ ’ and ‘ _eagle mythology_ ’.

 

... _came down in the form of an eagle or sent an eagle to carry Ganymede to Mount Olympus…_

 

Instantly, he remembered the card: “ _… a thank you for the company of my Ganymede…_ ”

 

“No, no, no, fuck!”  With a furious sweep of his arm, the laptop and all the paper on the table went flying to the floor.  The laptop’s screen cracked as it hit the ground.  “Fuck!” Dean cried out, voice strangled.  He knelt down next to the laptop— _Sam’s_ laptop—and rubbed his hand over the screen, like that would help.  A picture of an eagle carrying a boy away mocked him in warped color.

 

 

*

 

 

When Zeus stood up, he was taller than even Sam.  In fact, next to Zeus, Sam felt like a child.  Sam thought the god was probably around eight feet tall.  He could pick Sam up if he wanted to.  He did.  He carried Sam from the bed into the adjoining bathroom and sat him on the closed toilet-seat while he readied the bath.

 

There were windows all over the place, but the light shining in was so bright that Sam couldn’t look out.  He tried anyway, staring until his eyes burned.  He would have kept staring, but Zeus caught him at it and forced his gaze away.  “You shouldn’t hurt yourself,” the God said softly.  “Anything you want to know, just ask.”

 

“Will you take me back to my brother?” Sam asked, even though he wasn’t very hopeful on that front.

 

Zeus laughed, like Sam had told him some kind of inside joke.  “You’re funny,” he told Sam.  “I would not be separated from you, now that I’ve found you again.”

 

“I’m not Ganymede,” Sam said, picking at his fingernails.  He didn’t want to look at Zeus, whose aura just seemed to draw him in.  “I thought you put him in the sky anyway.”

 

“I put his likeness in the sky,” Zeus said mildly, but Sam sensed a darker undercurrent.  “Ganymede himself… that is another story.”

 

“What happened to him?” Sam pressed, because Sam didn’t know how _not_ to press something.  He’d pressed Dean until he’d told him about the supernatural.  He’d pressed his father until he had banned Sam from returning.  He pushed and he shoved until it all blew up in his face.

 

Fingers came up to grip his chin.  Sam had no choice but to look Zeus in the eyes.  That gold gaze burned into his, almost brighter than the sun.  Zeus tilted his head slightly to the side and when he smiled, it was bitter.  “You know about my wife.  You know how she reacts to these sorts of things.”

 

Hera.  Sam had completely forgotten about Hera.  Zeus wasn’t the only danger to him here.  He jerked his chin out of Zeus’s grasp, glaring defiantly at him.  “Then why do you doing them?”

 

Zeus’s brow furrowed and he looked like a depressed golden retriever.  “Why do you ask me all these questions, my love?”

 

“You said I could,” Sam answered mulishly.  

 

“Now’s the time for happier things,” Zeus replied, without actually really responding to Sam at all.  He clapped his hands and stood up.  “I ran the bath.  It’s warm.  I even put in bubbles.”  He grinned down at Sam.  “Won’t you come in with me?”

 

“I’m not going to get naked with you,” Sam said instantly, fighting the urge to curl up in a ball and hide. 

 

Zeus just laughed.  “You don’t need to be naked,” he said, and before Sam could protest, Zeus picked him up and plopped him in the water.  Sam grabbed for the edge of the tub, but before he could crawl back out, Zeus settled in behind him.  He drew Sam back against his chest and placed Sam in his lap.  Sam stilled.  Under his ass, Zeus’s cock was far from soft.

 

Zeus’s hands ran up and down Sam’s sides.  Sam couldn’t decide if he was trying to jerk away or trying _not_ to.  Either way, he stayed still, even when Zeus pulled him closer.  

 

The god sighed and nuzzled his cheek against the top of Sam’s head.  “It’s so good to have you back like this, Ganymede.”

 

Sam was just glad he didn’t have to reply.

 

 

*

 

 

Dean had to wait until the library opened to do more research.  Sam’s computer was useless now, still frozen on the same picture, almost like it was mocking him.  Dean promised himself that he’d get Sammy a new computer, a better one, once he had him back.  He’d get him a million computers; after all, thanks to Zeus’s reverse ransom, they had the money.

 

He wasn’t able to sleep, so he paced in the motel room, trying to piece it all together.  Sam’s abduction was related to the town’s case, he knew it.  Whatever was going on with the boys and the girls of Plymous, the Greek gods—or at least Zeus—were involved.

 

Dean did know the basics of Greek mythology, although Sam probably wouldn’t believe that.  He knew Zeus was the big head-honcho and that the whole getting infatuated with mortals thing wasn’t exactly new.  The kidnapping thing must be a bit more rare; after all, Hercules was the son of Zeus, according to Disney, and he’d been born on earth to a mortal.  So Sam’d had the misfortune not only to catch the guy’s eye, but to be one of the few he decided were keepers.  Great.

 

It did solve the pregnant teenage girl question, though.  Zeus showed up, slept with them, and then dumped their asses.  As for the deaths of said teenage girls… Zeus did have a wife.  If Dean remembered correctly, she wasn’t exactly a fan of his meandering ways either.

 

“Sammy, you attract the worst kind of people,” Dean murmured out loud, carefully ignoring the fact that Sam had attracted _him_.  It only really proved his point anyway.

 

It was close to six in the morning, which meant it was only an hour or so until the library opened.  Dean was pretty sure he’d worn holes in the carpet with his pacing.  The jealous wife part made sense to him.  What he didn’t get was why she’d only axed seven of them.  Not just any seven, but the seven that had decided to get married.  Maybe she had something against marriage?  No, she was married to Zeus, so that didn’t work.

 

“Wouldn’t she have been happier with less competition?” Dean asked the air.  “And why then kill the guys too?”

 

Dean hated gods.  Things like ghosts and poltergeists and spirits were much better.  They had set patterns, easy ways to figure them out.  Gods didn’t exist within that state of confinement.  Dean’s upper lip curled as he remembered the gathering of gods they’d gotten sucked into right before Sam had said yes.  All of them had been proud and controllable, moaning and groaning about the loss of their power—

 

“Power!” Dean said and snapped his fingers.  “Old gods are losing their power.  _Fuck_.”  

 

Six-fifteen.  That would have to do.  Dean nearly bolted out of the motel room.  He cranked the Impala’s engine and left the radio off.  There would be time for music once he got Sammy back.

 

He was outside of the library at six-thirty.  He knocked on the front doors anyway, and a disapproving librarian answered.  “We don’t open until seven,” she said and tried to close the door on him.

 

“Please, ma’am,” he said, loading his voice up with as much pleading as possible.  “I’ve got a paper due this morning and my computer at home crashed and—”

 

“Fine,” she hissed, when it was clear that he wasn’t going to give up.  He darted for the stacks as soon as she let him in.  He didn’t want to give her the chance to change her mind.

 

He opened the first book on Greek mythology that he could find.  He didn’t have to go far to get his answer; the table of context gave it to him.  “Hera, goddess of marriage,” he muttered.  “Kinda a downer for a wedding.”

 

It was good to know why a whole bunch of teenage girls were dying, but it wasn’t what he wanted to know.  He wanted to know how exactly he could find Sammy and kill the sonovabitch that had taken him.  Unfortunately, ‘killing a god’ was not as conveniently listed in the table of contents.

 

As he flipped through, it became increasingly clear just how much the Greek gods liked to fuck with people.  Some girl had gotten turned into a spider because she was a better weaver than Athena.  A guy had been turned into a deer and killed by his own hounds because he stumbled upon Artemis naked.  Dean was pretty sure something similar had happened to the dead young men in Plymous.  They’d all been talented, exceptional.  They’d probably challenged the gods and lost.  Or won and _still_ lost.

 

“Case closed,” Dean muttered, but it wasn’t really.  Because no matter how much he read, there didn’t seem to be any information on how to track down and kill a Greek god.  “Damn it,” he said harshly and slammed the book closed.

 

“Ummm…”  Dean glanced down the aisle and saw a woman, early thirties or so, peering nervously at him.  “Do you need some help, sir?”

 

He was getting ‘sir’ed by a librarian.  That was strange.  He pasted on a weary smile and said, “Unless you know how to kill a Greek god, I don’t think you can help me much.”

 

She laughed nervously, as if she couldn’t quite tell if he was being serious.  “Well, I don’t know about killing… but the only ones who could really take on gods were other gods.  I mean, they didn’t really do it directly, but look at the Iliad.  It’s pretty much half of the major gods against the other half, except the humans were the ones fighting—”

 

Perking up, Dean slid a little closer and turned up the charm.  “Other gods, huh?  And how could a human get a god on their side?”

 

The flirting was definitely working.  The librarian’s smile was bright now, not nervous at all.  “People used to make a lot of offerings to the gods.  They prayed as well, of course.  Different gods responded to different things.  For instance, they’d pray to Aphrodite in cases of love and lust.  They’d give her offerings like fruit and fragrant flowers, things like that.”

 

Dean wondered if making a deal with a Greek god was worse than making one with a demon, and then dismissed the thought.  “What about family love and that stuff?” He asked.  “Is there a special god for that?”

 

“Hestia!” The librarian chirped helpfully.  “Goddess of the home and hearth.”

 

“Great.”  Dean made sure to give her his best grin.  She _had_ been helpful.  “Thanks a lot.”  He left before she could say anything else.

 

On his way back to the motel, he stopped by a grocery store.  He had a goddess to summon.

 

 

*

 

 

Sam wasn’t allowed to leave the room.  Zeus left sometimes.  He normally came back a while later.  Sam didn’t have much else to do, so he read while Zeus was gone.  The first day or so, he’d tried to find ways to get out.  He’d even tried to attack Zeus with a lamp once.  He knew better now.  

 

Besides, he didn’t really want to leave.  He knew he had a reason he had to—Dean—but it was hard to think about that too much.  Sam knew he was losing some things—he remembered that he and Dean were very close, but he didn’t remember why.  Somehow, it didn’t concern him too much.  The first couple of days, he had worried a lot about being drugged or enchanted, but it didn’t really matter in the end.  He wasn’t getting out either way.

 

He and Zeus would spend whole days in bed sometimes.  Sam never let him do much more than kiss, because he still remembered that he had Dean waiting for him.  “Your brother wouldn’t care,” Zeus had told him one time.  Sam had just blinked at him.  He’d forgotten Dean was his brother.  He forgot it again pretty quickly.

 

One day, while they were cuddling, Sam asked why he couldn’t leave the house.  Zeus laughed at him, but it was a kind laugh, a fond one.  “For one thing, you’d still leave me if I let you,” Zeus told him, a little scolding.  “You haven’t remembered how good we are together yet.”

 

Sam snuggled closer.  Zeus’s chest was cushioning his head while the god ran his fingers through Sam’s hair.  “Is there a second thing?”

 

“There are a lot of second things,” Zeus teased, tugging at Sam’s hair a little.  “If I let the other gods see you, they would all want you.  There’d be so much fighting and bickering about you; it would never stop.”

 

“I wouldn’t want them,” Sam said practically.  “So what would you care?”

 

Zeus was silent for a long moment and then he sighed.  “You’re always so perceptive, my Ganymede.”  Sam still remembered that wasn’t his name, although he was coming to respond to it too.  Zeus liked to call him that and Sam didn’t mind it too much.  Even the name wasn’t enough to raise Zeus’s spirits this time, though, because his voice was somber when he spoke.  “I have a wife.  She gets very jealous.  Last time, I lost you because of that.”  Zeus’s arms around Sam tightened, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn’t lost now.  “I won’t make the same mistake.”

 

Vaguely, Sam remembered other tales along the same vein.  Moving to prop his elbows up on Zeus’s chest, he looked into the golden man’s eyes.  “Why do you keep taking us, then?”  Zeus opened his mouth and Sam waved his hand with a roll of his eyes.  “I know you’ve taken others.  She always gets mad and yet you do it anyway.  Why?”

 

This time, Zeus’s smile was rueful as he ran a finger over the curve of Sam’s cheek.  “Perseptive indeed, my little one.”  His hands brushed idly over Sam’s skin as he spoke.  “I like pretty things.”  Self-deprecatingly, he shrugged, as much as he could while laying on the bed.  “I’ve always enjoyed beauty, interior or exterior.”

 

“Mostly exterior, though,” Sam cut him off dryly.  He definitely remembered _that_ much.

 

Zeus let out a wounded huff.  “I won’t deny that I look for that.  But interior beauty captures me just as much.”  His right hand shifted to lay on Sam’s back over his heart.  “When I first saw you, Ganymede, I knew you were the perfect combination of them both.  And you were so strong too, so determined and bright.  I had to have you.”  The rueful smile was back.  “I know they talk about my wrath and my power.  But I have always been… what do you say?  ‘A lover, not a fighter’.”  He grinned cheekily, evidently pleased with himself, but that grin slipped off his face fast enough.  “My wife has never understood that.  All I have ever wanted to do was surround myself with love and beauty, but she thwarts that hope every time.”

 

Without really wanting to, Sam felt his lips curving into a frown.  It was hard not to feel bad, not with the golden man looking so nobly forlorn.  Carefully, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the line of the god’s jaw.  Startled golden eyes watched him as he withdrew.  “I hope you get your wish,” Sam said honestly.

 

In a whirlwind of movement, Sam was on his back, the god hovering over him with a sun-breaking smile.  “With you, I already have,” Zeus murmured, and brought their lips together for a kiss like thunder.

 

For the first time, Sam let himself kiss back.

 

 

*

 

 

After an embarrassing stop at some hippie yoga store, Dean was all set.  He had incense, wine, and a piece of ham, because apparently Hestia was a pig-person.  Whatever.  He had all the ingredients for a great goddess offering.  Hestia would show up and then he’d just have to convince her to help.  Which… would be interesting.

 

Just in case, he kept a silver knife, a gun, and a sharpened wooden stake close at hand.  He wasn’t going to risk being unarmed if the goddess decided it was better to kill him than make a deal with him.

 

Carefully, he set up the space.  Incense went here, bowl for the wine went there.  The ham was the finishing touch.  He knelt down in front of the plate with the ham, feeling pretty silly, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  “Hestia,” he said, and took another breath in, “look, I know you’re buddies with Zeus, but he took my brother.  He thinks Sam’s someone he’s not and he took him.  I need your help to get him back.”  

 

He opened one eye slightly to peer out.  No goddess.  Damn.  He sucked up his pride to try again.  “Zeus may think he loves Sam, but he doesn’t know Sam.  Not really.  He thinks he’s Ganymede, which Sam is definitely not.  Sam’s… Sam.  He’s my brother and I know him better than anyone in this world.”  Dean paused and bowed his head before admitting, “and he’s the only person who’s ever really known me.”  Shaking his head, Dean set his shoulders back and continued fiercely, “Even though I’m kinda pissed at him right now, even though I could rip his head off because he’s such an idiot… I fucking love him.  And you can bet your ass that no one, not even your Zeus, could ever love that damn kid like I love him.  So I want him back, okay?”  With a final surge of desperation, Dean bit out, “I _need_ him back.”

 

“There, there,” a voice said, silky and female.  “Was that so hard?”

 

Dean was on his feet in seconds.  Perched across from him on the table was a tall woman with waterfalls of curling black hair.  It fell loose around her body, emphasizing the curve of her breast and her hips.  She looked up at Dean through shining almond eyes, with a smirk that reminded him of velvet and handcuffs.  “Pleased to meet you, Dean Winchester,” she purred.

 

Dean stared at her for a moment and then said, “you’re not Hestia.”

 

“No duh,” she replied, voice lilting as she examined her red fingernails.  “You make a prayer like _that_ , you don’t get Hestia.  You get me.”  She wrinkled her nose as she looked down at the ham.  “Although right now I’m regretting that choice.  Seriously, ham?  What was that girl thinking?”

 

“Aphrodite,” Dean said, because he knew pretty damn well who was sitting across from him.  “You want to tell me what _exactly_ about that speech screamed ‘lust’ to you?”

 

“Oh please.”  She flipped her hair back behind her shoulder, looking at Dean like he was an idiot.  “‘No one knows that kid like I do’, yeah, no shit, big brother, if you mean ‘know’ in the carnal sense.”

 

“Seriously,” Dean said, unimpressed.  “Are you seriously harping on my fucking _syntax_?”

 

Aphrodite let out a long yawn, one hand covering her mouth in something that felt more like a mockery of ladyship than actual politeness.  “And here I thought you wanted help getting your brother back,” she said mildly, brushing imaginary dust off of her clothes.  “I could go if you want.”  Even as she spoke, she was standing up.

 

“No!”  Her eyes twinkled with amusement at his instant denial.  Dean scowled at her.  “You know I want Sammy back.”

 

“I can help with that.”  She smiled coyly at him.  “I sense this is the start of a great partnership, Dean Winchester.  What do you say?”

 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest because, yeah, he wasn’t going to fall for that one.  “What’s your cost for this ‘partnership’?  Because I’m not an idiot.  I know this isn’t for free.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure we could debate the idiot part,” she cooed, pouting her lips.  When Dean simply glared, she sighed long-sufferingly.  “Fine, fine.  Take all the _fun_ out of it.”  When she looked at Dean again, her eyes were cold and shrewd.  “Sam is in Olympus.  If you want him, I’ll take you there.  But while we’re there, I need you to fetch something for me.”

 

“What?”

 

Aphrodite tilted her head to the side.  “You’ve heard of Artemis?  She’s _your_ goddess, really.  The goddess of the hunt.”  She paused expectantly and Dean nodded.  “Good.”  Aphrodite stood up from the table and strolled closer to Dean, until they were merely a few inches away from one another.  Her lips curved upwards, amused, as Dean held his ground.  “She has a quiver of arrows,” Aphrodite whispered, and the breath from her words ghosted across Dean’s lips.  “While we are in Olympus, I want you to steal two of those arrows and give them to me.  In exchange, I’ll fetch your Sam for you and make sure you both get back alive.”

 

“What’s the catch?” Dean asked suspiciously.  “Is the quiver hidden in a trunk somewhere at the bottom of the ocean?”

 

Aphrodite laughed, and Dean was pretty sure he’d just heard sex in a sound.  “No.  Artemis always wears the quiver.  The catch—” she traced one finger over the curve of Dean’s cheekbone with a feral smile “—is that you’ll have a limited amount of time.  For every moment you spend in Olympus, more and more of your mortal memories will slip away.  You must leave before they all desert you… or you will forget them forever.”

 

“Sam,” Dean hissed and Aphrodite’s teeth glinted in the electric light.

 

“Yes,” she replied.  “I don’t think your Sam has much time left.  Time moves so much faster in Olympus…”  She trailed off and her finger slipped underneath Dean’s chin.  “So what is it, Dean Winchester?  Do we have a bargain?”

 

From the smile on her face, she already knew what his answer would be.  And really, there was no other answer for him.  Not when Sam was involved.  “Yes,” he growled and the last thing he saw was her smile before she whisked them away.

 

 

*

 

 

Sam couldn’t remember much beyond The Room.  He felt like he’d been there forever, except he knew he hadn’t been, because Zeus was always talking about he wasn’t going to lose Sam again.  Well, how he wasn’t going to lose _Ganymede_ again.  Zeus called Sam Ganymede, but for some reason, Sam was still pretty sure he was _Sam._

 

There was another name he liked as well, even though it wasn’t his.  The name Dean sounded so pretty to him, so strong.  When Zeus was gone, sometimes Sam would talk to the air like _it_ was a person named Dean.  The Dean in his head was funny and smart and handsome—even more so than Zeus.  But the Dean in his head was also so angry; Sam didn’t know why.  No matter how much Sam babbled to him, he never answered back.

 

Still, when Zeus was there, Sam didn’t think about his imaginary Dean.  Zeus occupied his time, golden and enchanting.  Zeus liked to talk to him.  Zeus liked to cuddle with him and kiss him.  Sam’s Dean didn’t like to do any of those things.  Not anymore.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Zeus asked him and Sam looked up from where he was straightening the bed sheets.  Zeus was lounging on the chaise lounge by the windows.  Somehow, even with all the light streaming in, it wasn’t the light that threatened to blind Sam, but Zeus himself.

 

“Ganymede?”  Zeus echoed, more concern in his voice.  “Are you alright, beautiful?”

 

The way Sam’s chest ached at hearing a name that _was-not-his_ seemed to indicate he wasn’t “alright”.  Zeus didn’t want to hear that, though.  “I’m fine,” Sam said, pasting on a smile.  “Just got a little lost.”

 

Sunny smile restored, Zeus beckoned Sam closer and Sam automatically obeyed.  He moved to stand between Zeus’s spread legs, shivering a little when Zeus put his hands on Sam’s hips.  “Where did you go to get so lost?” Zeus murmured and he pulled Sam down into his lap.  Sam went willingly, nuzzling up against the God’s chest.  “I don’t like you going places without me.”

 

Sam stiffened.  “Neither do I,” he muttered, feeling his face pull into angry lines— _bitch-face_ , his mind supplied, although he wasn’t sure why.  “You still go though.”

 

A large hand came to frame his face, tilting his head upwards.  Zeus looked down at him with a wistful expression.  “I wish I could take you everywhere I go, my Ganymede.  I would, if I did not love you so much.”

 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sam told him, but he tilted his head for a kiss anyway.

 

They kissed for what felt like days, slow and sliding.  Zeus worshiped him with his mouth, eventually trailing down to leave strings of love bites across his throat and shoulders.

 

Zeus kissed the skin just above his nipple and groaned.  “ _Please_ , little one.  I’ve been so patient.  I’m _dying_ to have you.  Please, let me take you.”

 

Hands stilling where they’d been roaming over Zeus’s back, Sam looked at the god.  Something was holding him back, telling him to hesitate.  That was stupid—it was!  What was he waiting for?

 

Sam shook his head once, then he nodded.  “Of course,” he said and tried to smile.  “I love you. Of course you can have me.”

 

Somehow, the words felt _wrong_.

 

Zeus was on him in a moment, kissing him as if both their lives depended on it.  His hands went immediately to Sam’s boxers, both pulling and pushing them down.  Sam tried to swallow the urge to scream—

 

“ _Zeus_!”  A voice thundered outside, powerful, feminine, and husky.  It made Sam think of a black car rumbling down a highway.  It made him think of deserted fields and knees in the dirt.  “Zeus, come out now,” the voice commanded, and then laughed once, sharply.  “And bring your _toy_ with you.”

 

Zeus’s face paled.  “Aphrodite,” he whispered, and then he seemed to draw himself together.  He looked stern and commanding, a side Sam had never seen from him.  The god looked down at Sam with a frown.  “Stay in here,” he ordered.  “Don’t come out, no matter what you hear.”

 

Mutely, Sam nodded.  Zeus kissed him one last time, like the crackle of lightning, and then he swept out the door.  Sam closed his eyes and sighed.

 

When he opened them again, the door was still open.

 

In all of his time in The Room, the door had never been left open.  He knew Zeus had told him to stay put… but the curiosity was too much for him to bear.  _Curiosity killed the cat_ , a deep voice rasped in his head, but Sam shoved it aside as he walked over to the open door and peered out.

 

 

*

 

 

Aphrodite gave him something called the Helm of Hades.  Dean knew who Hades was and he wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.  When he voiced his—perfectly valid—concerns, Aphrodite just rolled her eyes.  “It just turns you invisible, dumbass.  You’ll need it if you’re going to get me those arrows.”  She jammed it on his head and then actually _patted_ him.  “There.  Now hang tight.”

 

Somehow, Dean had gotten caught up in a storm of Gods and Goddesses.  Aphrodite was rallying them, screaming about _something_ , but Dean wasn’t really paying attention.  He was too busy trying to spot a goddess he’d never seen in a crowd chock-full of them.

 

“Quiver, quiver, quiver,” he chanted quietly to himself as he wove through the throng of gods.  He hadn’t ever realized the Greeks even _had_ this many gods.  There seemed like there were millions of them, even though it could only be a couple hundred.

 

 _There!_   A quiver over the back of a girl who was actually dressed in hunting leathers.  It had to be Artemis.  Trying to discretely inch his way through the crowd towards her, Dean made sure to keep that quiver in the corner of his eye.  He couldn’t chance losing her, not now.

 

It wasn’t that hard, in the end.  The gods all came to a stop outside a huge mansion built into the side of a waterfall.  Or, at least, that was what Dean saw; Aphrodite had told him that Olympus looked different to everyone.  With all the Gods stopped, it was easy for Dean to finagle his way behind Artemis.  With a swift, deliberate pluck, Dean snatched two arrows out of the quiver.

 

As he moved back towards Aphrodite, he saw that a couple of the gods were already holding a goddess on the ground.  She was screaming—what, he couldn’t make out, because Aphrodite was yelling as well, her voice thunderous.  “ _Zeus_!” She roared and Dean shuddered at the raw sexual force of it.  “Zeus, come out now.”  Pausing, she laughed, high and cruel.  “And bring your _toy_ with you.”

 

They didn’t have to wait long.  Dean had just squeezed out of the crowd when a tall golden man exited the house.  The man—the _god_ —was hard not to look at, but Dean’s attention was occupied by more important things.  Namely, his brother’s head peeking out of the doorway.

 

“Sam!” He yelled and then remembered Sam wouldn’t be able to see him.  He wrenched the helm off of his head and threw it to the side, surging forward.  “Sam!” He screamed again, and this time Sam’s eyes snapped to meet his.

 

There was no recognition in them, for the moment they stared at each other.  Then Sam doubled over, clutching his head.

 

“Shit!”  Dean sprung forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm dragging him back.

 

“The arrows!” Aphrodite demanded impatiently.  Dean slapped them in her free hand and then ducked out of her grip, running past Zeus to gather Sam up in his arms.

 

Behind him, the gods were chanting, screaming.  In his arms, Sam was shaking.  “Oh god,” Sam said and he clutched at Dean’s arms.  “Dean, Dean.”

 

“It’s okay,” Dean murmured, pulling his brother closer so they were locked together.  “I’ve got you.  I’m here.”

 

“I couldn’t remember,” Sam said, and he looked like he might puke.

 

A god appeared at Dean’s shoulder, forehead creased.  “I’m Hermes,” he said, and the winged sandals on his feet confirmed his statement.  “I’m here to take you back to the mortal plane,” he said and Dean nodded.

 

He pulled Sam up to his feet, wrapping his arm around his brother’s waist.  “Wait,” Sam said nonsensically, eyes darting to the middle of the crowd, where seven gods were forcing Zeus to his knees.  The god of the sky was struggling, but he was outnumbered.  In front of him, Aphrodite stood, holding one of the arrows high.  “Wait,” Sam said again, more urgent this time.  He strained against Dean’s grip.  “What are they doing?”

 

Forced to his knees, Zeus’s gaze flitted to where Sam and Dean were standing.  He looked over Dean like he was clear glass, staring instead at Sam.  “My Ganymede,” he said, and Dean could hear him even over the crowd.  “I lo—”

 

Aphrodite plunged an arrow through his chest.

 

Sam screamed.

 

Hermes grabbed them and they were gone.

 

 

 

 

PART THREE

 

 

Within five minutes of getting back, the Impala was speeding out of Plymous.  Dean pushed the pedal to the metal, glancing every now and then over at his brother in the passenger seat.  Sam hadn’t made any noise since he’d screamed, just shoved his stuff in his bag and shivered in the passenger seat.  He was staring out at the road like he couldn’t see it at all.

 

The case was closed.  Sam was back.  Somehow, Dean still wasn’t feeling very good about any of it.

 

Hermes had told him that Aphrodite would keep the gods from interfering with the mortal plane.  With Zeus and Hera gone, the goddess of love would be running the roost.  Dean doubted the policy of “non-interference” would last long, but hopefully the change of regime would keep them occupied for a while.

 

God, Dean wished Bobby was still alive.  All he wanted to do was take Sam back to someplace safe and wrap him up so the world couldn’t touch him.  Rarely was Sam so visibly shaken.  Sam hid things, always pretended he was okay.  

 

He was definitely not okay now.

 

Dean kept driving until they were three states away, safe in Illinois.  He felt less exposed further from the coast, like the water was something they needed to guard against.  Flat plains, empty fields… those were his homeland.

 

Once his eyelids started drooping, he pulled over.  He checked them into a motel that he was pretty sure they’d stayed at before.  It had some sort of bird motif.  Dean didn’t even think about it until he and Sam walked into their room.

 

It was covered with pictures of eagles.

 

Dean froze, eyes flying to gauge Sam’s reaction.  His brother looked blankly around the room once and then he cleared this throat.  “I’m going to sleep in the Impala,” he said calmly, and left without another word.

 

The idea of letting Sam out of his sight made Dean jittery.  He watched through the window as Sam got himself settled into the Impala.  Fifteen minutes later, he got a Coke from the vending machine and slid into the driver’s seat.  More driving wasn’t going to kill him.

 

 

*

 

 

At dawn, Dean grabbed some much needed sleep at a thankfully non-themed motel.  Sam slept restlessly in the other queen bed.  In a weird reversal of roles, this time Sam slept with his back to Dean.  Dean kept his eyes on the strong lines of Sam’s back until he passed out.

 

In the evening, they drove.

 

They didn’t talk much while they drove.  Dean changed the radio to whatever local station was in the area, so they were inundated with bad pop and even worse rap.  He kept waiting for Sam to change the station.  He knew Sam hated mainstream music just as much as he did, even with his weird indie singer/songwriter tastes.  

 

Sam didn’t touch the dial.

 

Driving was Dean’s happy place, even as uncomfortable as it was with Sam still and silent.  It gave him catharsis, let him think.  When he was angry, he drove.  When he was sad, he drove.  When he was happy, he drove.  The Impala was a vehicle for his emotions.  He could only hope, as he drove around night after night, that it provided Sam similar relief.

 

It was a week later.  Dean was packing up for the night after a long morning’s sleep.  Sam was on the other bed, watching him.  He sighed.  “Dean.  Where are we going?”

 

Dean looked up, blinking.  “Nowhere in particular,” he said carefully.  “Do you have somewhere you want to go?”

 

Sam didn’t even bother shaking his head.  He just looked at Dean, calm and composed.  He was hiding now, like he always did.  Looking at him, Dean could almost pretend the last week hadn’t happened.  “You can’t keep driving forever, Dean,” Sam said and his voice was soft.  “At some point you have to stop.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” Dean replied dryly and stuffed some more clothes in his bag.  Turning his back on Sam, he pulled his jacket on, the leather a comforting weight.  “Look, we don’t have a hunt.  I figured we could just… take some time.  Drive around, see the sights.”

 

“Right, because we can see a lot of sights at night.”  Dean could practically see Sam rolling his eyes.  There was a squeak as Sam got off of the bed.  Dean didn’t turn around to see what he was doing, but he could hear as Sam crossed over to him.  A hand came down on his shoulder.  “Dean.”

 

Reluctantly, Dean turned around.  Sam’s face was like a murky pool; he couldn’t see anything in it.  He flicked his tongue out over his lips.  “What?” He asked, and even he could hear the uneasiness in his voice.  

 

Tilting his head to the side, Sam smiled, small and tight.  “You don’t need to treat me like there’s something wrong.  Find us a case.  We’ll get back to normal.”  He laughed and even that was constrained and forced.  “You can even go back to being mad at me.”

 

Sam left him with that, moving to sling his duffle over his shoulder.  Dean frowned.  “I’m not mad at you.”

 

“Really?”  Sam raised his eyebrows.  “I could’ve sworn that you’d been pissed for the past four months.”

 

“Okay, yeah,” Dean admitted, because it was true.  He had been pissed back before he remembered that he could lose his brother at any minute.  Losing Sammy had always had a way of shocking his priorities back into order.  “That was then.”

 

“And this is now?”  Sam snorted, ugly and harsh.  “You’re not going to shove it in my face that when _I_ went missing, _you_ looked?  Showcase what a _good_ brother you are and prove to me just how _awful_ I am?”

 

“No!” Dean blurted out, because, fuck, he wasn’t that much of an asshole.  Was he?  “I wouldn’t fucking do that.  That’s not how this works.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam muttered, moving past Dean on his way towards the door.

 

“If you have something to say, say it,” Dean snapped.  Sam was getting under his skin the way he always did, digging down and pushing the pins in with his sharp little jibes.  

 

Sam looked back at him and the outside light framed his body.  “I wish you could have the brother you wanted,” he said, and there was no trace of sarcasm in that voice.  Bile rose in Dean’s throat.  “And I wish you had returned the favor and hadn’t looked for me.”

 

He left Dean standing behind him, nauseous and stunned.

 

 

*

 

 

Sam started looking for cases.  He pored over newspapers in the passenger’s seat while Dean drove.  He pushed Dean to get them readjusted to a daytime schedule, so they started pulling into motels earlier in the evening and leaving them again just after breakfast.  Mostly, Dean kept his mouth shut and watched his brother.

 

Sam was carrying something around with him, Dean could tell that much.  If there was one thing Dean knew, it was what guilt looked like.  He couldn’t remember seeing it before.  Then again—he realized with a pang of guilt—he hadn’t been looking too closely.

 

Dean knew about Stockholm Syndrome.  He knew that Sam had been in Olympus long enough to almost lose his memories completely.  In a world like that, it made sense that he would ground himself with the one thing he could—the god that had imprisoned him.  Did Sam feel guilty for attaching to Zeus like that?  Or for letting him die?

 

Three days into his observation, Sam noticed.  He started watching Dean back, hazel eyes full of suspicion.  His shoulders started rounding in further, as if he thought he could hide from Dean’s gaze by caving in on himself.  He hid behind everything, it seemed like, from the newspapers they picked up to Dad’s journal.  Even when he didn’t have something in front of his face, he acted like he was a million miles away again.  Dean almost would’ve bought it, if he hadn’t caught Sam’s covert glances in his direction.

 

It was a Saturday night.  They were heading towards Nevada for some case that Dean was pretty sure was bullshit.  Sam was dead-set on it, though, so he drove.  It was almost midnight when they crossed into Colorado.  Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel and yawned.  Sam shot a look at him and then sighed.  “You want to see if we can find a motel?”

 

“Sure,” Dean answered good-naturedly.  They were just entering a town anyway.  He glanced around as they drove through town.  The motel was pretty easy to find.  Unfortunately, the _FULL_ sign was equally easy to see.

 

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, looking like he personally wanted to murder the inhabitants of the motel.  “Next town?”

 

Dean didn’t bother answering, just pressed down on the gas pedal.  They drove the next twenty miles in silence.

 

It was that time of night where silence felt like it needed to be filled, not with chatter, but with whispers.  Dean could remember sitting in the back of the Impala as Dad drove, he and Sammy whispering secrets to each other underneath their big blue blanket, back when Dean was barely old enough for middle school.  It had always surprised him, the fact that they still had things to tell each other even though they practically lived in each other’s pockets.

 

“Hey, Sammy,” he blurted out and kept his eyes on the road, even though he could feel his brother’s gaze on him.  “Do you remember what happened to that big blue blanket we used to have?”

 

He chanced a sideways glance and saw Sam blinking at him.  “No,” Sam said, nonplussed.  “I don’t.  Why?”

 

Dean shrugged.  “Was just thinking about it.  It’s that time of night, after all.”  He paused, hesitating, before saying, “I always used to think the only fun thing about keeping secrets was being able to see the surprise on your face after I told you.”

 

“You kept secrets from people all the time, Dean,” Sam said bemusedly.  “Like the whole hunting thing.  And the Dad-isn’t-actually-home thing.”

 

Dean scoffed.  “That was other people, Sam.  It was never fun keeping secrets from you.”  Biting down on his lower lip, he flexed his hands on the steering wheel.  “Did I ever tell you that I put on panties for a girl once?”

 

When he looked to the side, sure enough, there was Sam, eyes practically bugging out of his head.  “W-what?” Sam sputtered, and then shook his head.  “Why are you telling me that?”

 

He’d deny it later, but Dean blushed a bit at that.  “Well, I just figured…”  He gestured between the two of them.  “Quid pro quo, right?  That was what we did.”

 

“Yes…” Sam said carefully.  “When we were kids.”  He quieted for a moment and then sighed.  Dean couldn’t tell what he was feeling.  “What do you want to ask me, Dean?” Sam whispered, and his words blended in with the darkness and the flash of the highway lights.  “Are you going to ask me again why I didn’t look for you?  Ask why I didn’t get free from Zeus myself?”  He paused and his voice went darker.  “Are you going to ask whether I slept with him?”

 

Dean swallowed.  “Did you?” He croaked out.

 

There was silence between them for a moment and then Sam shook his head.  “No,” he murmured.  “I didn’t.”

 

“Oh.”  Dean’s voice felt hoarse, even though he hadn’t spoken that much.  “That’s good.”  He nodded to himself.  “‘Cause that would be…”

 

“He wanted me to, though,” Sam interrupted, voice stronger.  “And I would’ve.  Eventually.”  As if that proclamation had taken all the strength out of him, Sam slouched back in his seat.  “Anything else?”

 

 _Yes_ , Dean wanted to answer.  Instead, he cleared his throat.  “I said quid pro quo, didn’t I?”  He waited a moment, then growled a little in the back of his throat, exasperated.  “Ask me something.”

 

Sam sounded so fragile when he asked, “what are you trying to do with this, Dean?”

 

Dean sucked in a deep breath.  With the lack of light on his face, it was a little easier to talk, to say what he really meant.  “Do you remember the year before you jumped in the pit?”  He didn’t wait for Sam’s response, because he knew he did.  “There’s was some shitty stuff in the beginning there… but we talked, you know, and in the end…”  He kind of wanted to rub his eyes.  His throat was clenching up too.  Fuck.  “In the end, we were us.  Power of love and all that.”  He cleared his throat once more, huffing a little.  “I want us to be us again, Sammy.  I’m so sick of being—” he waved a hand between them “—this.  We’re a fucking mess.  I want us to be okay again.”

 

He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, but he refused to say anything more.  He refused to look at his brother as well, because if he did, he might do something idiotic like cry or pull the car over so he could hold Sam tight.  The emotional speech was more than enough for him.  He’d said his piece.  Hopefully, Sam would go from there.

 

There was no warning before Sam started talking.  “He wasn’t evil, you know.” 

 

Dean couldn’t help shooting his brother a doubtful glance at that one and Sam rolled his eyes.  “Well, he was, I suppose.  I know what you’re thinking.  He kidnapped me, seduced those teenage girls and left them to his wife’s mercy.  But with me…”  Sam was curling in on himself, his hands balling into fists.  “With me, he was gentle.  Kind.  He never _made_ me.  He talked about how beautiful I was and how special I was.”  Sam laughed, a little hysterically.  “He was the first person that acted like I was _worth_ something in a long time.”

 

A little wounded, Dean said, “I think you’re worth something.”

 

If Sam’s laughter had been hysterical before, it was almost manic the second time.  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure you do.  You’ve _definitely_ been acting like it.”

 

“I was mad,” Dean said weakly, but even he knew that wasn’t enough.

 

“ _I thought you were dead!_ ” Sam yelled and Dean jerked the car over to the side of the road so he could breathe.  Sam’s hot breath hit the side of his face as he spoke, fast and angry.  “You treated me like I was worse than a _demon_ , like I was lower than _dirt_.  You were cruel and angry and you took it all out on me.  You didn’t even _look_ at me, didn’t touch me—”

 

Dean grabbed his face and dragged him into a kiss, eating up his words, sucking them down until they were gone.  Sam fought against him, not like he wanted to be released, but like he wanted to hurt Dean with his touch.  Dean got one hand on the back of Sam’s neck and held on for the ride.  He let Sam scratch up his shoulders and arms, let him bite his lips until they were torn and bloody.  When Sam pulled away, Dean’s blood was all over his lips and he looked like some kind of vampire.

 

They stared at each other for one long moment and then a single tear rolled down Sam’s cheek.  “I got him killed,” Sam croaked out, and then he was crying full force.

 

Dean held him in his arms until the tears stopped and the sun had started to rise in the sky.

 

 

*

 

 

They ended up pulling into a motel at around six in the morning.  Dean got them two queen beds, but when they got into the room, Sam tossed his duffle on the ground and then crawled in with Dean.  For the first time in a year, they shared a bed, Dean’s arm wrapped protectively around Sam’s waist.

 

Dean woke up to Sam staring down at him.  Those hazel eyes still held far more weight than he ever would have wanted them to, but Dean thought they looked slightly brighter.  

 

“Hey,” Sam rasped and Dean cupped his face and pulled him down into a kiss.  

 

They both had morning breath.  Dean’s mouth was dry and his lips cracked from the previous night.  Their teeth bumped together a few times.  But when Sam leaned back, he was smiling, if only slightly.

 

“We’re not just going to be able to fuck and make it okay,” Sam said, voice even, but there was a wariness in his eyes.  “We’re both really fucked up.”

 

“But at least we’re hot,” Dean muttered.  When Sam swatted at his arm, he just grinned and moved his hands to grip Sam’s waist, tugging him closer.  “You’d be amazed to know,” Dean said dryly, “ that I am actually aware sex doesn’t solve everything.”  He nuzzled Sam’s neck, taking in that smell that was uniquely his brother.  “It’s not a bad place to start, though.”

 

“A lot of people would disagree with you,” Sam said, but his voice was already getting breathy.  Dean rolled them over so he could settle between Sam’s spread legs.  Sam looked up at him the way he always had, like he was surprised to see Dean there.  Or, more precisely, like he didn’t understand why Dean would _want_ to be there.  For Dean, it was completely the other way around.  The fact that Sam allowed him to do this always blew his mind.

 

He must have stared too long, because Sam smiled, a little cheeky, and slid a leg up over Dean’s hip.  “I’m not averse to trying your method, though.”

 

Dean beamed, but he held himself still.  “Are you sure?” He asked seriously, even though he’d be taking cold showers for a month if Sam said no.  “I  want you to be sure.”

 

Sam looked up at him, brow creased a little, considering.  He reached up and put his hand on Dean’s cheek, and held it there for a moment.  “Yeah,” he answered, swiping his thumb over the jut of Dean’s cheekbone.  “I’m sure.”

 

After that, Dean didn’t waste any time.

 

When they were together again, connected by sex in a way that almost seemed spiritual, Dean held his brother close.  He kissed every inch of tan skin, worshipful, thankful.  Sam whimpered and writhed beneath him, and Dean gave him everything he had.

 

As Dean’s hips snapped forward to bury his cock in Sam’s ass, Sam gasped, “I’m glad.”

 

Dean paused.  “Glad what?” He panted out and Sam smiled.

 

“I’m glad you found me,” Sam answered and leaned up to kiss him, keeping their lower halves still while he did.  Pulling back so he was only an inch away, Sam sighed.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Dean bumped his forehead gently against Sam’s.  “Yeah,” he rasped out.  “Me too.”

 

 

_FINIS_


End file.
